FORTY DIVISIONS OF FRENCH, ENGLISH AND American troops formed
the Allied Army of Occupation that was to march into conquered
Germany. I do not know what the condition of the English and French
forces was, but the ten American divisions which were detailed
to invest the Rhineland certainly constituted one of the finest
armies ever seen in Europe. New equipment was issued to the men,
and uniforms were cleaned, pressed and brushed with exceptional
energy. The men were in excellent health, and most of them were
first-class soldiers. Rolling equipment was limbered up and carefully
inspected. Fieldpieces were examined from muzzle to trail, and
the animals who pulled the various conveyances such as caissons
or wagons were groomed until they seemed to be in perfect condition.
Rifles and small arms were either polished until they fairly sparkled
or were turned in for newer ones. Part of the job of this Army
of Occupation was to make an impression on the German populace
which would be deep enough to dissuade them from support of any
move on the part of military leaders in Germany calculated to
lead to a resumption of hostilities. The Armistice actually settled
nothing in the matter of consequences of the World War, determination
of the so-called war guilt, or provision for penalties on the
vanquished combatants. It merely provided for a cessation of warfare,
which is entirely different from a peace.

We were going into a land whose people for years had taken
intense pride in their army and the deadly efficiency of that
army in all branches of the service. Theoretically, the Germans
could have waged war once more at any time; actually, it was impossible
for them to do so. Not until the Treaty of Versailles was signed
on June 28th, 1919, was true peace restored to Europe. Not until
this document was signed did the 4th Division leave Germany.

Captain Liddell Hart, writing of the march into Germany, has
complained that "The advance was slow---slower than the timetable.
The tardy pace of this unresisted march cast its reflection upon
the vaunting claims that only the Armistice prevented a rapid
pursuit to the Rhine by the victorious Allies. Not until December
13 did they cross the the Rhine; four more days elapsed before
they completely occupied the bridgeheads and mounted the guard
on the Rhine."

What Captain Hart has written is true. But the fact which he
omitted to mention is that time had to be allowed for the retreating
Germans. It happens many times that a retreat is slower than an
advance, and in this instance the German forces were doing their
best to withdraw to the homeland in an orderly, efficient manner.
It has been said that trouble in the ranks arose when German soldiers
who had been in Belgium started the march back home, but there
was scarcely any disturbance in our section of Northern France.

Most of us were tremendously excited by the prospects of the
journey. The war had been fought almost entirely in France and
Belgium, and although we had faced the Germans, we had never seen
their country. Anticipation was further heightened by the knowledge
that the Rhineland had not been blasted or torn by mines, shells
and bombs such as had nearly ruined the once lovely countryside
of that portion of France in which the greater part of the war
was fought. We expected to find a fresh, untouched land that was
known the world over for its majestic beauty and that was celebrated
in legend from the poetry of Goethe and the Niebelungen cycle
to the "Pied Piper of Hamelin" of Robert Browning. We
were to occupy the area near Coblenz by order of Marshal Foch,
in whose hands the Allies had left all military matters incident
to the investment of the conquered nation. The English forces
were to be settled in the area of Cologne, and the French in the
area about Mainz. The Belgians marched into the area about Aix-la-Chapelle,
or Aachen, as it is now called.

On November 15 I went to Toul with Lieutenant Charles E. Palmer,
now a surgeon in Ontario, Oregon, to buy a pair of new boots and
to be measured for a new uniform. For the next few days nothing
of much importance was done except for routine duties. I censored
some of the mail of the company personnel, succeeded in making
Captain McCarey angry by making sport of his haircut, which some
barber of the region had given him, and discovered that my locker
had arrived from Meaux, where it had been stored throughout my
service at the front.

On the 20th of November the march into Germany began. The Army
of Occupation, of which the American component was known officially
as the Third American Army, was the general term for the Allied
forces which entered Germany. But there was also an American "army
of occupation," constantly referred to as such, which actually
was an entirely new army that had not existed prior to the signing
of the Armistice. This was the Third American Army, commanded
by Major General Joseph T. Dickman, who had won conspicuous success
with the 3rd Division in stemming the German advance toward Paris
in July of 1918. It is this 3rd American Army which is meant when
the American "army of occupation" is referred to by
writers on the World War.

Major General William C. Gorgas, Surgeon-General of the United
States Army

Railway car in which the Armistice was signed. This year (1940)
the Germans took this car to Berlin.

There were two columns of American troops that marched abreast
into Germany, the 3rd and 4th Army Corps, the 3rd on the left,
commanded by Major General John L. Hines, the 4th on the right
commanded by Major General Charles H. Muir. In the 4th Army Corps
were the 3rd, the 42nd and the 4th Divisions. The 3rd and 42nd
Divisions led the advance, followed by about two marches by the
4th. A new force, known as the 7th Army Corps and commanded by
Major General William G. Haan, was later added to the 3rd American
Army.

On the 20th of November our ambulance company went from Ville
d'Essey to Bauçonville, where Captain Dobbins was relieved
of his command. I took over the company in his place. That night
we had luscious steaks smothered in onions, one of the few exceptional
meals we had eaten in months. On the 21st we reached St. Benoit-en-Woëvre;
by the 23rd we were in Moineville, where I spent the night in
a building that had the date "1851" carved into the
stone above the doorway. The next day, November 24, found us in
Eckingen in Lorraine, where we remained until the 2nd of December.

It is a fact of historical significance that on the night of
November 24 a railway train stopped at the bomb-shattered station
in Metz and discharged a number of passengers. Among them were
Ferdinand Foch and Maxime Weygand. The two strolled into a room
that had been the Kaiser's private waiting-room, walked out into
the night air puffing cigars, and wandered about the town. On
the next morning Foch's old 39th Division was assembled for a
great review in his honor. It was the soldier come home to the
scenes of his childhood days --- days spent at a time when Metz
had been under the domination of the German Empire.

"To see French troops marching past on the Place de l'Hôtel
de Ville," Foch wrote, "was an ample reward for all
my efforts."

After the review, the victorious generalissimo went to mass
in an edifice that was packed to the doors for the occasion.

"I always used to tell myself," he wrote, "in
the old days, that I should not like to die till I could hang
up my sword, as a votive offering, on the walls of Metz Cathedral.
Oh, I shall do it! I have promised!"

These thoughts of Foch, revealed long after the day of his
visit to the city of his boyhood days, are indicative of the attitude
of most French generals and statesmen at the time of the Armistice.
Most of them could remember the fateful days of 1870, when German
legions marched down the avenues of Paris, when the statue to
Strasbourg in Paris was draped with black crepe to symbolize the
loss of that city to the conquering Prussians. These men were
intent on revenge. Other issues of the problem of peace were submerged.
The German hordes which had dared to overrun France had been struck
to their knees in bitter defeat. Revenge was the motif of Foch's
reception of the German envoys in his railway car in the Forest
of Compiègne; revenge was the stimulus that took Foch to
Metz in November; revenge was the driving force that caused him
to envisage the entire Rhineland as a buffer state, separate from
Germany; revenge stirred him to rage again and again, until he
was rebuked at least once by President Wilson, during the Versailles
Conference.

It was this spirit of revenge, intense and unending, which
distinguishes the objectives of President Wilson from the objectives
of Clemenceau and the French statesmen at Versailles. Americans
do not understand it because this nation has nurtured none of
the age-old hates and fears that were bred centuries ago in Central
Europe, suppressed at times for the sake of propriety or expediency,
but always flaming fiercely and hotly at the source. Wilson had
to combat the spirit of revenge and retribution at: Versailles
and he could not do it successfully. No man could. Whatever hopes
there might have been for the rehabilitation of a new and unshackled
Germany at Versailles were dashed to earth before the Conference
began. The Allies were determined to have their pound of flesh
from Germany and they had it. Now, twenty years later, it would
appear that they are paying for it many times over.

In Eckingen we were billeted at the home of a delightful old
French couple who could remember the days of 1870. So overjoyed
were they at the thought of being released from German domination
that they gave us a sumptuous Thanksgiving dinner. I think they
were of the higher type of French citizens, for in spite of their
natural antipathy to all Germans, they spoke well of German officers.
One of them had spent the night with the old couple a few days
before our arrival. "Tres gentil," the old couple called
the German officers.

While we were in Eckingen we went to the house in which Lieutenant
Palmer was billeted. He was staying with a German family named
Westphal, and both the owner of the house and his brother once
had been wealthy. They had owned several large copper and zinc
mines in that region of Lorraine. Mrs. Westphal was an Englishwoman,
and was considerably pleased to meet people who spoke her native
tongue, in spite of the noticeable coolness of her husband toward
us. She could not have been more than 40 years old, but her hair
was as white as snow.

Insight to the Prussian temperament may be gained from the
attitude of her husband one night as we were sitting about, drinking
Moselle wine and listening to some music. Herr Westphal was a
skilled violinist, and we had invited Sergeant Day, the mess sergeant
of our company and a graduate of the Northwestern University Conservatory
of Music in Chicago, to accompany Westphal on the piano.

The German was almost insulted by what he considered a flagrant
breach in propriety, for he sulked and scowled most of the time
Sergeant Day was playing for him. It was an effort for him to
be civil to the young pianist. I suppose it was the old story
of the Prussian officer and the non-commissioned officer: an aristocrat
versus a common soldier.

In the German army it would have been impossible to invite
a sergeant into a social gathering of officers.

Mrs. Westphal was more gracious than her husband. The conversation
soon turned to the origin of the war, and she told us that she
would never go back to England because of the way Herr Westphal
had castigated the English throughout the war.

"I do not know who caused the war," she told us,
"but I do know that when the war began, my husband and his
brother were very, very happy. When the French came into Lorraine
and occupied this town, my husband and his brother lost everything.
That is all I know about it."

We learned that the Westphals had a son who was about 15 years
old. He had been sent further north into Germany when the news
reached Eckingen that the Americans were to march into Lorraine.
The reason for such caution was that they feared that the Americans
would intern the lad. Actually, however, there was no such danger.

We resumed the march on the 2nd of December, leaving Cattenom
and reaching Sinz, and passing through the southeastern portion
of Luxembourg. Tragedy struck at us during this part of the march,
for one of the huge United States Army trucks ran over two little
children on the road, killing them instantly. At last, proceeding
up the valley of the Hunsruck Mountains, we toiled through Trèves
and Bernkastel, hard pressed by the artillery units behind us.
We rolled into Lutzerath on December 15, and in this village we
set up a dressing station.

On the whole, the Americans withstood the hard and strenuous
march into Germany with fortitude. Their physical condition at
the end of the long journey was excellent. Such a march as the
one we undertook would be an ordeal even for the trained soldier,
but it was much worse than that for the 2,300 new men who had
come into the 4th Division for replacement purposes just before
the march began. It happened that some of these new men had been
exposed to mumps before coming into our division, and within a
few days several of them had to report that they had contracted
the illness. Other men soon fell ill, until in all we had no less
than 134 patients suffering from mumps, a most unsoldierly and
unromantic affliction.

Our fears during this march were that we might inadvertently
leave some sick man behind. After the second or third day of travel,
the collection of ill soldiers was swelled considerably, and the
wide dispersion of troops, the bad roads, poor communications,
strange terrain and dark and rainy nights, made our job most difficult.
We had to find every regiment every night. We had to patrol every
road along the march during the daytime, and we had to call at
every village through which it was known that our soldiers had
passed. We were extremely careful to learn where groups of soldiers
had slept the previous night, so that we might drive to the place
and look for the sick.

Most of the ill, I might say, were evacuated with dispatch
and in comfort. One poor fellow chanced to have been left behind,
in spite of the most diligent efforts to locate all sick men.
He was billeted in the home of the burgomeister of a nearby
village, and that honest citizen took such splendid care of the
homeless Yank that when our ambulance came to take the missing
man away, the soldier protested bitterly at being snatched from
the bosom of his new-found Teutonic friend.

In all, 2,197 soldiers were evacuated to the various hospitals
during the march into Germany, resulting in an average of 85 soldiers'
being taken sick each day of march. Influenza accounted for 312
patients, bronchitis for 347, and the bane of every infantryman,
foot trouble, for 326.

Headquarters for our ambulance company was situated in the
village of Lutzerath, a small place lying about 4 kilometers from
Bad Bertrich, a well-known resort. We of the company ventured
into several other sectors while we were in Germany, but we always
returned to Lutzerath, which was our station for about 5 months.

While I was in Lutzerath I was billeted in the home of a priest
named Father Embser, whose brother, Captain Franz Embser, had
been in command of a machine gun company during the late war.
The brother could speak English well, and we had many an interesting
conversation while I was in Lutzerath. The priest had taken in
a little German girl, named Katrina, and had reared her in his
home. She was a flaxen-haired girl about 16 years old who delighted
in associating with the strange officers who had come from beyond
the seas to her home. It was she who brought us a juniper bush
for a Christmas tree, and who did so much to amuse us while we
were in that tiny hamlet.

One afternoon, as I was strolling about in the back yard of
Father Embser's house, I thought I heard some rather odd noises
emanating from the cellar. I walked over to the cellar door and
was peering down into the darkness when Katrina came along.

"Katrina," I said, "what can that noise be?"

"Kapitan," she answered, "Kommen sie hier!"

I followed her very quietly as she led me down the rough stairs
and into the cellar. There I beheld two mammoth white hogs, each
weighing no less than 250 pounds. While I stood there in surprise,
watching the huge animals root about and grunt, Katrina told me
that the hogs had been fed on refuse from the kitchen, and that
they had been living in the cellar since they were small pigs.
In a few days, she said, they would be butchered, quietly and
secretly. If the Government learned about the hogs, someone would
come and seize them. She explained that hogs had been kept in
the cellar ever since the beginning of the war, when Germany had
been placed on the ration plan.

Officers of the 4th Sanitary Train at .Lutzerath, Germany, in
1918

Much to his surprise when be returned to America, the author found
that this citation had been sent to his mother in St Joseph, Missouri.

New Year's Eve in Germany was uneventful, excepting that as
the old year died, from somewhere in the night there floated in
to us the notes of German buglers as they played "Taps."
I soon fell into the habit of going over to Bad Bertrich for the
baths, especially since it was my duty to see that the men were
taken there in trucks to enjoy the beneficial effects of the water
at that resort. Former President Theodore Roosevelt died at Oyster
Bay on January 6, 1919, and we stood in retreat at 2, o'clock
in the afternoon while "Taps" were blown in honor of
the celebrated American.

Since there was not much at that time of the year with which
the American troops could amuse themselves, orders were received
which directed that all divisions in the Third American Army organize
football teams. Two leagues were formed, comprising teams of the
American Expeditionary Forces in France. The winner in one league
was to meet the winner in the other league, in a game for the
championship of the entire American Expeditionary Forces.

The soldiers had been forbidden to fraternize with the citizens,
so they welcomed the football games with much enthusiasm. Captain
Hamilton Fish, now a representative in Congress from Dutchess
County of New York State, was head coach of the team of the 4th
Division, and I was ordered to report to him as trainer and surgeon
to the newly-organized football team. Our team trained at Bad
Bertrich, and as I recall it, activities began on the 28th or
29th of January. I slept at Lutzerath, but went to Bad Bertrich
every morning to be with the football players. One interesting
note in my diary at this time reads: "I administered to Captain
Fish a dose of castor oil, for which he considerately thanked
me."

On the 5th of February the football squad went to Coblenz.
Most of us had dinner at the Hotel Metropole and spent the night
at the Kronprinz Hotel. I was billeted with a second lieutenant
who was the most profane of mortal men during the daytime, but
who never failed to say his prayers every night. The next day
our team played the team of the 42nd Division, the vaunted "Rainbow"
division. Our triumph of 7 to 0 was keenly appreciated, for our
division had gained nothing like the fame of the 42nd, although
it probably had done fully as much at the front.

Our next game engaged the team of the 4th Corps Army. We won
by the narrow margin of a field goal kicked by Captain Tenney.
On the 19th of February we played the team of the 2nd Division,
and this time we won, 10 to 7. The 2nd Division was composed of
a brigade of infantrymen and a brigade of Marines, and since a
soldier of the regular army is nearly always jealous of a Marine,
we were jubilant at our victory. In the evening beer and wine
flowed in luxurious profusion, and officers staggered about the
bail shouting and bellowing at each other. One epithet that our
men never tired of hurling at the Marines was: "Marines,
Marines, the first to advertise!" This jibe alluded to the
tremendous publicity given to the Marines in American newspapers
after the battle of Belleau Wood, in which, as a matter of fact,
as many infantrymen as Marines fought. The feeling among the soldiers
was that the Marines had snatched all the credit for the victories
in the early stage of America's part in the war. That evening
the banners of the Marines must have drooped low, indeed, for
the hall in which the riotous celebration took place was well-nigh
wrecked. It was never opened again while we were in Germany.

The personnel of the 4th Division's football team reflected
the democracy inherent in the United States Army, for the players
were men whose ranks ranged from private to lieutenant-colonel.
All of them had played football in college, and several of them
had previously been All-Americans. Captain Hamilton Fish had played
football for three years at Harvard University. He was an All
America tackle on Walter Camp's team during the years of 1908
and 1909 Lieutenant-Colonel F. C. Sibert, Major R. M. Littlejohn,
Major W. E. Coffin and Major F. P. Prickett all had played football
at West Point. Captain P. G. Tenney had been an All America halfback
at Brown University. Captain T. E. Henning had been a star player
at Michigan State College. Lieutenant O. E. Smith had been a well-known
halfback at Drake University. Lieutenant T. P. Moriarity had been
a famous tackle at Georgetown University. The fastest man on the
squad was an Indian who had played college football under Coach
Glenn Warner at Carlisle Institute.

On the 22nd of February I wrote to Dr. Louis B. Wilson, director
of the Mayo Foundation for Medical Education and Research at Rochester,
Minnesota, to request an application blank for a fellowship in
medicine at that institution. Dr. Wilson's reply reached me before
I returned to the United States, but it was several years later,
after I had been in practice in Walnut, Iowa, that I became a
fellow at the Mayo Foundation.

On February 27 our football team sustained its only defeat;
the 89th Division beat us at Coblenz, 14 to 0. The 89th had a
fine squad, and It was coached by the great "Potsy"
Clark, now head coach of the Detroit Lions in professional football.
He had been a star player at the University of Illinois in his
collegiate days. Nevertheless, with harder training and more attention
to the game, I believe our team might have won. It was consolation
to us that the team of the 89th Division won the championship
of the Third American Army, and that it later went to Paris to
play for championship of the entire American Expeditionary Forces.

General John J. Pershing inspected the 4th Division on March
18, 1919, and the men were on the reviewing field from 9 o'clock
in the morning until 5:30 in the afternoon. General Pershing inspected
the transport units first, then mounted a horse and inspected
the artillery. He was a splendid figure as he rode slowly up and
down the field, erect and constantly alert. Something of the character
of Pershing may be gained from the fact that he missed not one
man of the 4th Division in his tour. Up and down the line he went,
grave, efficient, firm of step and straight of carriage.

Many of the soldiers saw him for the first time, but in spite
of the pardonable tension, all remained rigidly at attention.
The men impressed him, as he told us later. After inspection,
the division passed in review before General Pershing. Any large
military review is a stirring sight, but this one was enhanced
by the fact that it was held in a strange land, with snow-capped
hills and pine trees surrounding the flat, open field on which
that vast multitude of American soldiers marched to the strains
of NoTe Vayas Zamboanga, an old Spanish march that
had been General Pershing's favorite when he was a young officer
in command of troops on the Island of Mindanao in the Philippine
Islands.

American medical officers in the villages were required to
care for the sick among the civilians in Germany, and during my
stay I called on many families in our area. I spoke only a limited
amount of German, but my orderly, Private F. J. Memflisch, who
now resides in Allentown, Pennsylvania, spoke the language well,
and served as my interpreter. I soon learned enough German to
take fair histories of the patients, and to prescribe for them.
All the Germans I treated were appreciative of my services to
them, but they were pitifully poor. They were exactly the sort
of people found in many parts of the United States, and they were
no more responsible for the war than were similar families in
the United States. They could not give us money, and tried to
pay us in all sorts of provisions. We could not have accepted
remuneration had we wished to do so, but I did occasionally accept
some fresh eggs, which we enjoyed immensely. We had not been able
to secure fresh eggs since we left France, and the omelets we
concocted were coveted by all.

It was obvious that most of these poor German civilians were
badly undernourished, and at length my spirit revolted. I had
been commissioned a captain while we were in Germany, with a consequent
increase in authority. I told Sergeant Day, mess sergeant of the
ambulance company, that if by chance he gave some food to these
poor folk while I was not around, no harm would come to him. He
saw at once that even though we were forbidden to mingle with
the Germans, surplus foodstuffs of the company kitchen could be
given to them instead of being destroyed, and no one would be
the wiser. Orders are orders, it is true, but in this instance
I violated orders with my tongue in my cheek. I have never been
sorry for this particular breach of regulations.

Early in April the 42nd Division left Germany to sail for the
United States, and the 4th Division was assigned to the area which
the "Rainbow" Division had occupied. We had been in
Lutzerath over five months. The officers and men had been billeted
in the homes of these German people. We had become well acquainted
with them. In many instances, there had developed a friendship
between the Americans and the German people, so it was with some
regret when we said good-bye to them. There was one German woman
who was probably heartily glad to see us go. Some of the soldiers
had taught her a few remarks in English, most of which had no
relationship to each other. Some of her newly-acquired words were
simply full-blooded Anglo-Saxon expletives, and some were American
slang expressions of the native sod. She had a dachshund on
which she lavished much affection, but the temperament of the
dog was not so felicitous. It would growl and snap at our pitt-bull
terrier, "Sergeant Pat," every time our mascot came
near. The gentle German woman assured us that her dog never would
attack ours, but some of the German lads of the community swore
that he would. "Sergeant Pat" had not deigned to take
notice of the German dog until one evening, as a few officers
and men were sitting about in chairs in front of this woman's
house, a sergeant gave "Pat" a kick as the dachshund
came into view. Our mascot evidently thought the kick was
a summons to the attack, for he flew at the lady's pet and sank
his teeth in the animal's ear. There was a furious racket as the
dachshund began to shriek and bowl, but the bull terrier's
jaws were immovable. Neck rigid and unyielding, he held on like
grim death. The sergeant finally seized "Sergeant Pat"
by the collar and swung him in a wide arc in an attempt to break
the grip of his powerful teeth. The terrier merely clenched his
teeth more securely, and after one or two revolutions, the luckless
dachshund lost about one-half of his ear, and fell to the
earth in a cataclysm of yapping and squealing.

As the animal scurried up the steps to safety, the old German
lady shouted as much English as she knew at "Sergeant Pat:
"God-damn't American weisshund!"

The 4th Division moved to an area roughly circumscribed by
the Kreis of Ahrweiler, adjacent to the British forces whose headquarters
were at Cologne. We advanced to a region that was famous for its
resorts, and in times of peace travelers in search of rest and
the therapeutic effects of the baths in the vicinity came from
all over Europe. Headquarters for our ambulance company was at
Bengen.

When we occupied Bengen, we discovered that no American troops
had ever been billeted in that village. Consequently, the problem
of sanitation confronted us at once. We had noticed that in the
smaller rural towns of France and Germany the most prized possession
of any householder was a manure pile inevitably heaped next to
the owner's house, or, as often happened, the house and barn would
be one structure, with the manure heaped next to it. In Ville
d'Essey, for instance, I had been billeted in a house one room
of which sheltered a cow. Both the kitchen and the dining room
were adjacent to this room. Yet, despite these unsanitary practices,
the German peasant's home is invariably spotlessly clean, for
the German Hausfrau is one of the best housekeepers in the world.

In Bengen we found that many of the Germans stored their manure
in a concrete basin, beneath which was a stone or concrete cistern.
Water was sprayed on the manure, and it seeped through tothe
cistern below, carrying with it much of the phosphates and nitrates
so useful in replenishing impoverished soil. The water thus impregnated
with fertilizing elements was drawn up, poured into water carts,
and emptied on the fields.

This water had a strong, offensive odor, so much so that our
soldiers ironically called the water carts "honey wagons."
Flies bred by the millions in the rotting manure. The buildings
and outhouses were not screened, so the problem of preventing
flies from breeding was an important one from the standpoint of
health.

Our first duty was to clean up such a village, but the land
was so poor and the population which the land had to support was
so large that we met with a stubborn Teutonic resistance when
we tried to remove the piles of manure. We attempted to induce
the villagers to haul their manure away, without much success.
On several occasions I had to threaten the burgomeister of
Bengen with fines before he would force the citizens to prevent
the accumulation of manure.

On the 24th of April my long-awaited leave of absence reached
me. I had thought of visiting Italy, but I was advised that no
leaves to that country were being issued. I therefore decided
to go to England, and Lieutenant E. D. Bennett, supply officer
of the 11th Machine Gun Battalion, decided to go with me. We took
a battered old Ford car to Bonn, the railway train to Cologne,
and proceeded the next day to Brussels. That tragic city was at
this time in a gay, riotous mood. Prices were high, but the tide
of reaction to the horrible martyrdom of the historic town during
the war was running high, and the glamor and sparkle of entertainment
and night life were well worth the cost.

While Lieutenant Bennett and I were in Brussels, I had the
bad luck to be berated unmercifully by an officer, who, I was
told, was Major General James G. Harbord, now chairman of the
board of the Radio Corporation of America. General Harbord was
a fine soldier with a brilliant record. He had entered the service
as a private soldier in 1889, became chief of staff of the American
Expeditionary Forces on May 15, 1917, commanded a brigade of Marines
near Château Thierry in June and July of 1918, commanded
the 2nd Division in the Soissons offensive of June 18 and 19 of
the same year, and became chief of the Service of Supply of the
American Expeditionary Forces on July 29, 1919.

I saw this officer in the lobby of the Palace Hotel in Brussels
where I had neglected to salute him. He was a major general and
I was a captain, and he exercised a remarkable proficiency in
reprimanding me; in fact, I have never experienced such mortification
since that misty, gloomy evening in Brussels. I thought the general
was making too much of a point in reproving me for a minor infraction.
I was in the uniform of an American army officer, and it was my
duty to observe every regulation of the army, particularly on
foreign soil.

This incident took place in a lounge just off the main lobby
of the hotel. We were uncovered; that is, our bars were off. I
had the impression that we were not to salute when we were inside
and uncovered. The lounge and lobby were crowded with American
and Allied officers. This reprimand caused a little scene, and
was witnessed by several American officers. After the General
had gone on his way several of the American officers came up to
me asking, "What was the trouble?" and they all informed
me that I was right and that the General was wrong; but that did
not relieve me of my mortification.

Lieutenant Bennett and I left Brussels at 6 o'clock the next
morning, and we reached Ostend shortly before noon. Ostend had
been utilized by the Germans as a submarine base throughout the
war, and as we shipped for Dover we could see vaguely the outline
of the old British cruiser Vindictive, which had been loaded
with cement and sunk, in company with two converted Liverpool
ferry boats, at midnight on April 22, 1918, by the British. The
operation blocked the mouth of the Bruges canal, and in spite
of the tremendously powerful searchlights which the Germans had
played on the British seamen, the job was done in less than a
half hour.

When we reached London a representative of the American Red
Cross met us at the station, and took us to our hotel. The city
seemed to be in a tumult. Londoners were still exuberant, it seemed,
about the great Allied victory, and soldiers of almost all Allied
nations were greeted with a great show of hospitality and good
cheer. American soldiers, in particular, were the objects of much
admiration and respect, and we had no difficulty in finding rooms
at the Hotel Ivanhoe. it was almost impossible to obtain a room
any place, unless one were in uniform. One evening just about
dark, we met Congressman W. J. Fields from Kentucky and Congressman
S. H. Dent from Alabama. They stopped us on the street and introduced
themselves to us. They informed us that they had been unable to
secure rooms at any hotel. We gladly gave them ours. We
obtained other rooms without any difficulty. Congressman Fields
wrote me many years later, saying, "Spending a night on the
streets of London would have been a hectic experience and we mighthave
had that experience but for the kind assistance of you and Lieutenant
Bennett."

We went to Edinburgh and Glasgow, and made a flying trip to
Belfast and Dublin, where we saw Clara Kimball Young in A Glass
House. I thought Dublin was a desolate city. The post office
building still showed the effects of shelling during the rebellion
of 1916. Ireland at that time was seething in discontent, and
the effects of the bitter feeling toward England were very evident.
We saw one thing that we had not observed in any other country,
and that was a large number of young men of military age, not
in uniform, loafing; that is, standing and sitting on street curbs.
They were not friendly toward us. There was a strike of hotel
employees, bellhops, waiters and so forth, so we were unable to
obtain a room in Dublin. Because of this we took a boat back to
London the same evening.

Returning to London, we took lodging at the Washington Inn,
poked about the city a while, and within a day or so were in Paris,
where we saw the Folies Bergère and managed to lose a good
sum at the races. On the 9th of May I was back in Bengen.

On May 19 rumors were circulated that the 4th Division would
return to America, but within a few days it became evident that
no such move was to be made. It is known now that Generalissimo
Foch had orders to advance into Germany on May 27, but the entanglement
at Versailles into which the Allied statesmen had gotten themselves
precluded either Foch's advance or our return. We remained in
Germany throughout the month, but the men were becoming increasingly
restless. They were idle, doing garrison duty only, and although
we tried to keep them busy with drilling and athletic contests
of various kinds, they were difficult to control. Once we were
ordered to turn in all equipment; then the order was rescinded
abruptly. This infuriated the men. The war was over as far as
we were concerned and we were rather sick and disgusted with the
affairs as they were taking place in Paris, we had one burning
desire, and that was to return home. Never had we appreciated
America quite as much as we did then.

It was becoming evident that affairs at Versailles were not
progressing satisfactorily. The Allies were fighting more among
themselves. It was being appreciated how complicate and intricate
were the problems that were being discussed. It was evident that
"The League of Nations" and Woodrow Wilson's Fourteen
Points were not going to succeed. The Europeans took the attitude
that America had something to sell. France would accept the League
of Nations provided France could keep a vast army and forever
keep Germany crushed. England would accept the League of Nations
provided it could keep the largest navy in the world. Thus, the
League of Nations was doomed before it was started. The various
countries did not think alike; they had entirely different philosophies.
It was not surprising that the League did not succeed. Perhaps
France and England were right in insisting upon maintaining their
army and navy, but these policies were irreconcilable with the
League of Nations. Woodrow Wilson encountered shrewd, unscrupulous
and practical diplomats. He was a theorist and idealist. When
he first went to Europe he was hailed everywhere, by the weak
and the mighty, as the savior of the world. But as time went on,
he and America began to lose caste and finally were held in contempt.
The following poem published in May, 1919, which I found in the
magazine John Bull, when I was in London, gives an idea
of what some of the English people thought of Woodrow Wilson and
America:

Whenne
Ye Lusitania was sunk,
And hundreds of innocente Americans
Were murdered,
Hee was atte laste shamed into
Takynge an actyve part in ye Crusade
Agaynst
Ye Beastlie Hungs,
And sent an Armie of Yankee Soldiers
Toe France
Whose total numbers
Verie nearlie equalled ye sum
Of British dead
Whoo gave up their lives atte ye front
For Humanitie.

It certainly was becoming evident to most of the men what the
American Policy should be: get out and stay out.

On the 28th of June the Versailles Treaty was signed, and on
July 10 our ambulance company left for Brest. As we traveled in
box cars down along the Rhine toward Cologne the American soldiers
were very happy. They had forgotten all their ill feeling. They
were going home. As we passed through these German towns out of
Coblenz the Germans lined up alongside the railway tracks, and
boys about 12 to 14 years of age brandished their fists at us.
They were still Germans, still proud of their once-mighty army,
and they could not forgive us for invading and occupying their
Rhineland. They had been defeated, but it was evident that they
still nourished a deep spirit of revenge toward us, and that they
fully believed retribution eventually would come to them. We traveled
through Aachen, Mons, Liege, Namur, Valenciennes, Arras and Amiens,
most of which were thoroughly ruined. It seemed incredible at
the time even to imagine that the destruction and devastation
which these towns had experienced could ever be erased.

At Camp Pontanezen, near Brest, the men were deloused, and
equipment was inspected, and the money of the company was changed
into United States currency at the rate of 6.44 francs to the
dollar. Some of the men in the division were chosen to go to Paris
to take part in the great celebration of France's national holiday
of July 14, in the parade which Marshal Foch led.

Our ambulances and most of our equipment had been turned in
while we were still in Bengen, Germany. The United States Government
did not wish to return it to America for several reasons, chief
among which was the fact that the job of shipping it probably
would not have been worth the effort and time consumed. Consequently,
the French Ministry of War bought what the American Expeditionary
Forces left behind, and in spite of the fact that critics have
maintained that such equipment was sold at a great loss, it is
nevertheless true that some of it was only of salvage value. Equipment
for war often deteriorates far more quickly than most other types
of apparatus. To sell it to France was probably the wisest and
most economical step to take.

We sailed on July 23, on the U. S. S. Minnesotan, an old freighter
that had been converted into a troopship. I had a miserable cold,
so I spent most of the trip by myself, reading Dombey & Son,
with plenty of time to do some reflecting. Some men sat about
playing poker or cursing or telling stories endlessly. I could
not but reflect on the change that a year in Europe had exerted
on the men I had known during that period, as I watched them on
the voyage to America.

What I was witnessing was the progressive influence of warfare
on the character of ordinary men like myself. What war does to
the temperament of men is one of the most significant lessons
the struggle in Europe impressed on me. Harmless, friendly, young
men were turned killers in a relatively short time, because of
the influence of the war. The impulse to kill rendered mild and
good-tempered men into murderers who shot mechanically without
thinking first or exhibiting a sign of remorse afterward. The
late Friedrich von Bernhardi reported that Mussolini believes
in the regenerating effect of war upon nations who engage in strife,
a belief that is refuted by the hordes of pitiful invalids and
cripples who survive some of the strongest men at the front. To
me, the accounts of gallantry and chivalry in the midst of battle
in most instances are iridescent fables spun out by the professional
idealists and hired romancers.

The two incontrovertible objectives of war are death and destruction.
It is true that in the sudden imminence of great danger, plodding
and unreasoning soldiers have been transformed into genuine heroes
before whom nothing could stand, but the transformation has but
two purposes: death and destruction. The pleasant connivings of
the militant and the persuasive exhortations of the practicing
patriot come to the same things: misery, wreckage, death, mutilation,
annihilation. I fully believe that in most instances war brings
out the worst in any man's character. Too often it coarsens and
adulterates moral fiber and insidiously achieves the ruin of what
is supposed to be the noblest of all creatures. It seemed to me
that the men I accompanied to France were far more admirable than
the men I accompanied back to the homeland.

We disembarked at Philadelphia on August 3, and went at once
to Camp Dix in New Jersey, where we were to turn in such equipment
as had been issued to us in excess of uniforms, shoes and the
like. I straightway managed to become involved in some government
red tape. As commander of Ambulance Company No. 21 and supply
officer for the 4th Sanitary Train, I was responsible for all
equipment issued to the men. It was my duty to see also that the
equipment that had been issued to the men was returned to the
War Department. This would have been relatively simple, had all
the men been discharged from the Army at one camp at one time.
But they were not. They were sent to the military camps nearest
to their homes, and there they were discharged from the service.
Some of the men in our company went as far as Camp Lewis in Washington.
Obviously, it would be impossible for me to check in the equipment
of these men, for the men had already departed, taking their equipment
with them. I could not leave Camp Dix with the rest of the company
until I had accounted for this property. In panic and desperation
I finally appealed to a Jewish officer who was in the Quartermaster
Corps, and he signed a paper stating that I had turned this equipment
in as salvage, thus relieving me of my accountability. He did
this just in time for me to jump in a sidecar and rush madly to
the depot to board the train that was pulling out for Camp Dodge.
I am grateful to that officer even to this day.

I arrived at Camp Dodge, Des Moines, Iowa, on August 9, approximately
a year and a half after I had presented myself to the commandant
for examination for a commission. I had crossed the Atlantic,
spent some six months in the thick of some of the most tremendous
battles of the greatest war in history, and had retraced my steps
unscathed to the scene of my entry into the army. No man was more
jubilant than I when I finally left Camp Dodge and returned to
the quietude of medical practice and civilian life in Iowa.